The Morning After
by Kasey Clark
Summary: a short oneshot of Dean's reaction to Sam heading off for college.


**A/N:** This is just a little fic about Sam heading off for college and Dean's reaction. It's not my best writing, but it's proof of what a long hiatus will do. enjoy!

* * *

_The only thing worse than the sound of voices yelling is silence._

Dean awoke abrubtly. His first thought was to remember where he was. After the realization that he was in his own bed sunk in, the haggard twenty two year old attempted to sit up.

After swinging his feet over the edge the mattress and pushing off the thin sheets, he stopped moving, paralyzed.

It had taken him a few moments before everything came rushing back to his mind like a tidal wave. Rubbing his forehead vigourasly, Dean let out a soft groan. The pain in his head was only matched by the one in his heart.

"Where's my damn asprin?" Dean asked groggily, groping his bedstand for the pill bottle. It was rare Dean was that hung-over, and the results were paying its toll on him.

Dean couldn't remember how many he'd had. He couldn't even remember how he'd managed to make it back to his own room.

"There you are, little bastards!" Dean said, smirking slightly. He'd managed to dig the medicine out from under a collection of magazines, pulling the top off fiercly and gulping down three.

As the last one slid down his throat, Dean's eyes opened to alarming lengths. The hand holding the pills let loose, spilling white tablets across the cheap carpet. His face drained of color, and his knuckles turned a ghostly white.

"How could it have taken me this long to remember?" Dean thought. Any strength he imagined he had at standing up was gone. It took effort just to bring his hands to his face. The man wished he could crawl under his covers and dissapear forever.

Sam was gone. Little Sammy. Just a teenager out there in that terrible world.

Dean's hands turned into fists. He couldn't drive to some dingy bar in the middle of the night to avoid all his thoughts. They were there, they had to be dealt with, had to figure some way to get over them.

But Dean couldn't. He was a Winchester. And in typical Winchester fashion, dealing with issues was their one flaw.

The kitchen, the dimly lit bulb hanging from the ceiling, the unwashed dishes in the sink...Dean could envision all those details, he didn't mind letting those enter his conscousness. It was everything else.

Sam's face, the look in his eyes when he set his measly duffel bag on the table. The look on John's face when he glanced up from his journal.

Dean had witnessed it all. Not ten minutes before then, he had left to grab all of them some pizza from the local diner. He knew Sam had always enjoyed pizza, if even only because John hated it.

He had walked up the concrete porch steps lightly. That morning he woke up feeling it was going to be a good day. That emotion had carried on throughout the day. Sam had been locked in his room doing God knew what and John had concentrated on studying up some local mythology. Dean felt it was a calm day.

And calm days were good.

Anything was better than having to hear his dad and brother fight. Whether it was over who ate the last t.v. dinner or what mistakes were made on their last hunt, the two were always at eachother's throats.

Most the time Dean could stop the argueing. But lately all he was able to do was watch as they each tore the other apart.

Neither of them realized how much it was killing Dean. Each "I hate you" or "Don't ever disobey me again" cut a tear in Dean's heart. He tried so hard to keep them comfortable, to keep both in check, that he didn't see the effects it made on him.

Yesterday, Dean felt reasonably well. He preformed his usual routine; cleaning his weapons, researching any weird activities, checking in with his dad, spending some time with his brother.

So when he opened the kitchen door and saw Sam standing by their wooden table, his few possessions packed in a bag, Dean was taken aback.

But even that didn't last long. John, by that point, had managed to stand up, a fire in his eyes Dean had only seen the night Mary died.

Sam was standing his ground. The boy's lanky hair hung in his eyes, making it hard for Dean to see what state he was in. Knowing what was to come, the elder brother thought a moment about grabbing Sam's bag and taking it back to his room, but looking once more at John's face, he knew this was a battle he'd have no say in.

It was as if it were the silence before a storm. All three Winchesters stood in the grimy kitchen, all three knowing what was about to happen, but none knowing what to do.

Dean's blood pressure began to rise. Panic breached the surface of his usally cool demeanor. Without so much as a glance, John pushed Dean an order.

"Son, step out of the room. Sam and I are about to have alittle chat."

Dean's stress raised another notch. He'd never been told to go away before. Unsure of what to do and becoming more worried by the second, Sam stopped him from having to make a decision.

"No Dean, you need to stay. You need to hear this, too. I should have told you earlier, but I knew you'd tell Dad."

"Dean...NOW!" John shouted. Dean's foot had actually managed to take a step backwards before Sam froze him in place again.

"Dean," the boy had yet to look his brother square in the eye. "If it's the last thing you do for me, do not leave this room."

Dean knew he was staying for the battle. There was only one person the twenty two year old took orders from besides his father. His baby brother.

The headache in Dean's skull was beginning to subside. Lying back on the bed, the man thought of how he was to leave his room knowing Sam wasn't on the other side of his door. Down the hall, there was absolute silence. In every room there was silence. Not even the house was moving.

"Why don't you leave your brother outta this, kay? You've got a problem with me, deal with it, but don't drag him into it," John had hissed at his youngest. In all Dean's life he'd never heard the two speak they way they were to each other. Their voices were filled with a insurmountable rage, but coated underneath was pain and fear.

"Because he's a part of this family, and it would not be fair to not let him in on what I'm about to do."

John pounded the back of a kitchen chair softly and bit his bottom lip. "And what are you about to do, Sam? Because before you say anything I want you to remember what your last name is. Remember what family you belong to."

Sam shook his head. Dean wished he could do something, anything, to stop time. The way both men kept their voices level put him on edge. Dean would take yelling and screaming over their strained restraint.

"Don't you think I know I'm a Winchester, Dad? Don't you think I live with that on my chest everyday of my life?" the yelling Dean wished for had begun to surface, Sam's voice rose an octive. "I never had a choice though, Dad. Ever since I was a baby it was 'do this' or 'follow my order.' Well, guess what, Dad, you can't make me follow your orders anymore."

"Don't do it Sam-"

"I want a normal life, and I'm going to get one."

"Sam, I'm serious, put that bag back right now-"

"Or what?" Dean watched Sam's lips purse, knew that was his version of smugness. There was a long pause before Sam went on, his voice back down to the normal level. "I don't want to leave on a fight. I knew you wouldn't approve, and I knew this wouldn't be easy...but I have to...I want to."

Dean stood by the door, his mouth agape. Thousands of words rushed through his head, waiting to be spoken.

"I got in to Stanford on a full ride. They're paying for dorms, books, lab fees, I've got some money saved up from some pool games, it's enough to get me there. Once I get settled I'll find a job and pay for everything else I need."

Dean had dealt with some pretty nasty creatures in the past. Some left him in the hospital, one even with a cast. But none hurt him like Sam's word's did. It felt as if the his heart was getting punched over and over again while his body just stood there and took it.

"Say something," Sam retorted, staring John down.

After allowing the silence to torture Dean for a few more minutes, John spoke. His voice was raspy and barely adouble above the air conditioner running.

"Get out."

Both kids reacted. Dean dropped his jaw lower, the invisible monster was punching even harder now. Sam closed his eyes slightly and thrust his hands into his pockets.

"What?"

"I said, don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out...now go," John's voice was heard clearly that time.

Dean waited for someone to wake him. He felt it had to be a dream, his brother would never leave him in real life. But the blows to his chest were too painful to be imaginary.

Sam didn't pause. As the words left John's thin lips and registered in the eighteen year old's brain, he picked up his bag and turned towards the door.

Dean met his gaze for the first time and last time since the arguement began. He felt his knees go weak. Tears threatened his eyes as he made eye contact. It was then he really grasped that Sam was leaving him. He was walking away. Walking away from his duty to his family. After eighteen years of giving him everything, Sam was giving up on him.

"I hope you understand why I'm doing this Dean...I mean, we both knew this wasn't the life for me...I needed something more, something better."

The place where his soul was punched was replaced with bruises. Dean felt them, and blamed the pain on Sam. Turning his gaze towards the wall next to his brother's head, he said, "Fine."

Sam lowered his head. "Some day you'll see. You'll see why I'm doing this."

"Just go on and go, dude, I don't want to hear any more."

Without saying another word Sam opened the door Dean had walked through not ten minutes ago, and began to leave. He was halfway through closing the door when John's voice rang out.

"Sam, just know, you walk out and close that door, you ain't ever invited back in. You leave us, you better stay gone."

Dean saw Sam pause for a second, and thought for a brief instant, his dad's words would bring him back, but all he was met with was the slam of the wooden door, followed by the unbearable silence.

Trying once more to lean up in bed, Dean failed to remember any more. He remembered taking the pizza box out of his car and chucking it in the trash, then speeding down the highway to the local bar.

"I thought I could keep him here," Dean mumbled, getting out of bed. The asprin had dulled the pain, but the need for a bathroom and food pushed him to get out of bed.

* * *

Once Dean had fulfilled the first need, he made his way to the kitchen. Walking through the doorway, he stopped in his tracks. John was sitting at the table again, his journal open but pushed aside. 

Dean hadn't prepared himself for the encounter. As much as he missed Sam and blamed himself, what John said to Sam caused Dean to feel a dull resentment towards him. Dean didn't grasp how John could just give up on his son. The man was stubborn, but to leave Sam for dead was beyond Dean's comprehension.

The two men didn't exchange words for the good part of ten minutes. As Dean finished up his bowl of cereal, John spoke, his voice mute, "I see last night's escapade has worn off."

Dean glared at the back of his father's head from the counter. "Was it you who brought me home?"

"Yes. After your eigth one the bartender got alittle worried, he knew you were mine so he called me up and suggested I give you a lift."

Dean didn't know how to answer. He knew his father was rambling on about last night to avoid the real discussion. What really had driven Dean to get hammered.

"Hurry up and finish, Caleb called this morning, he has a job he wants us to pick up."

"He called you, or you called him?" Dean let the icy question slip.

"Hey, you want to start trouble, too? Seems to be the new form of entertainment with my kids."

"No, I just want to know, if Caleb really needed your help, or if you're just trying to get away from all this. Leave the house, get your mind centered around something other than the fact that you kicked your kid out." Dean was shocked at himself. It was the most rebellion he'd ever shown towards John. He knew the guilt would crush him later, but at the moment, all he cared about was hurting someone. To have someone feel the same pain he felt at that moment.

"We're leaving in an hour," John grabbed the journal and left the room.

Already the effects of Sam's absense were zoning in on Dean. Sam was his life. In their crazy world of change and fake lives, the one thing Dean had stabalized was Sam. Taking care of his younger brother came with breathing. How was he supposed to take care of Sammy when he was off at college?

Dean wondered as he packed if he would be able to drive. All his life Sam had been his passenger. Even if they were pissed at each other, Sam always rode next to Dean. It was more than habit, it was just...them. Dean was afraid the sight of the empty seat would kill him.

_If I had just said something or done anything..._

Those thoughts swarmed through Dean's mind amidst the remaining alcohol. Taking a look in his bedroom mirror, he shivered slightly. He looked worse than he thought. His eyes were sunken and his cheeks pale. The more Dean stared at himself, the more disgusted he became. Instead of seeing a hunter, an obedient son, all he saw was a failure.

Just like his mom, he'd failed to keep Sam. He thought he'd done all he could for his younger brother, but it wasn't enough. He still left him. He hadn't done enough, hadn't proved he was worthy of Sam's company.

The reflection in the mirror began to taunt him. Began to throw his inability at keeping anyone close back at him. It showed that nobody really wanted him. Mary died before she could see who he'd become, John stayed away, for the most part, and Sam, he couldn't wait to get away from him.

Dean couldn't take it anymore. With one swift punch the mirror shattered into pieces and the frame tilted, one side falling off its nails. Shards of glass cut deep into Dean's knuckles, spreading blood over his hand.

The pain felt good. It took his attention off his internal pain and concentrated on the physical. From down the hall Dean could hear John coming.

When the man entered the room and took in the sight of Dean and the broken mirror, he quietly threw him a rag.

"Meet you by the cars when you're cleaned up."

Dean nodded, making eye contact for the first time since last night.

It was then he became determined. Determined not to let his dad leave. To stick with him. No matter how bad the orders were, he'd be the good little boy.

He wouldn't let the last member of his family slip away.

As the weeks progressed, the pain in Dean's heart subsided to a dull ache. There were times when he felt like punching another mirror, but none of the urges were as strong as the one on the morning after.

Every morning Dean awoke and for a few blissful moments forgot Sam wasn't with them. He experienced the same sharp stab in his soul when it dawned on him his little brother and his best friend were gone for good.

But none of those times were as bad as the morning after. When, for the first time, Dean awoke without his second half there.


End file.
